


It Always Starts Somewhere

by DrowningByDegrees



Series: Habit Forming [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Frottage, I guess if you read it with the series there's kind of a bit of a plot, M/M, also first time silliness, pwp mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7024543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningByDegrees/pseuds/DrowningByDegrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Habits always begin somewhere. Theirs begins in 1936</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Always Starts Somewhere

It’s cold when Bucky decides to stop off at the little apartment Steve’s been moping about in since his mother passed. He hasn’t seen much of his friend, and worry gnaws at him all the time that this visit is going to be the one where he comes to find the worst has happened. Steve never complains, but Bucky can’t help noticing he’s a bit paler lately, as if his will to keep going has ebbed as much as his health. 

 

Dinner. He’ll claim he’s dragging Steve to dinner and not worry that knots in his belly bringing him to his friend’s door. He’ll say it’s excitement to see Steve that makes him walk in without knocking, and not a haunting image of his wisp of a friend at the back of his mind, finally come entirely unraveled. 

 

The frozen air that makes Bucky’s breath come in puffs of white follows him into the fridgid little flat. Brooklyn in November is a wretched time to live in a tenement building. All the time is a wretched time to live in a tenement building, but it’s worse with the last of the wood for the stove used up and nothing to make up the difference. Not for the first time, Bucky curses Steve’s refusal to just come stay with him. 

 

Relief hits Bucky where heat does not. The room is miserably cold, but Steve meets his gaze with a smile. He’s curled up on the sorry excuse for a couch, buried in what must be every blanket in the house. He looks small and frozen and a bit ill in a way that makes Bucky’s heart ache, but his expression lights up a bit in the presence of company, so there’s perhaps at least that to be grateful for. 

 

“Tell me again why this is better than just coming to stay with me?” Bucky asks, shaking his head as Steve pulls the blankets a little more tightly around himself. 

 

It’s immediately the wrong thing to say. All at once, Steve’s face falls, and he turns away in obvious humiliation. He doesn’t even look up when Bucky takes a seat on the empty, battered cushion beside him. When he finally responds, it’s soft and defeated. “I just underestimated some. It’s fine. It’s just tonight.”

 

“Shouldn’t have to be at all,” Bucky insists, giving Steve a friendly nudge through the blankets, though he knows it won’t work. Another tactic, then, something to make Steve understand that he’s not some charity case. “Look, I could use the company, and I wouldn’t want anyone else. I already know I like you.”

 

“There’s being friends and there’s never getting away from someone,” Steve points out, though he finally looks like he might be considering the offered solution. 

 

“Yeah, but that’s about true anyway. If you were a dame, everyone would assume we were going steady as it is,” Bucky teases, trying to lighten the mood. It also the wrong thing. Steve’s eyes go wide and he looks like he’s going to melt through the cushions and right on through the floor if he goes any redder. 

 

“We’re  _ not _ ,” Steve insists, and Bucky has no idea who he’s trying to convince. Of course they’re not, whatever Bucky thinks on sometimes in the dark and the quiet as he’s drifting to sleep. 

 

“Of course not, pal. Jeez, I was just teasing,” Bucky tries to explain. The words are met with distress that doesn’t fade, Steve’s flushed cheeks utterly at odds with the chill of the room. That’s about the time the silent implication sinks in. Oh sure, Bucky knows that the possibility of Steve taking up the offer of staying is going to be torment for him, but it’s the first time he’s considered the opposite might be true. It’s not remotely legal, and if he’s wrong, it would be a terrible gamble, but the possibility still flops in his chest. 

 

“Course… that doesn’t mean anything anyway…” he tries, choosing his words carefully. Bucky watches Steve’s every move, trying to gauge his friend’s response. Steve stares at him with those big, pretty eyes, lips full and faintly pouting, and it’s all Bucky can do not to lean in a little more, just to see. Instead, he forces himself to keep talking. “At the end of the day, it’s always you and me.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. It sounds like an agreement maybe, the word punctuated by teeth worrying over his bottom lip. It’s really not helping at all, and Bucky’s self control is a little frayed, and he’s just thinking about doing something about all that when Steve coughs. It’s one and two and before either of them know it, Steve is shuddering under the force of it, huddled in on himself and nearly falling off the couch. 

 

“You didn’t tell me you were sick,” Bucky chastises, resting a hand on Steve’s back through the blankets. 

 

“I’m not,” Steve argues, but Bucky just lifts an eyebrow, doing his very best to look unimpressed. It seems to work, and Steve sighs, adding, “not any more than usual anyway.”

 

“Stay put.” Those are the things that gnaw at Bucky when he’s away, one of a myriad of reasons he’d rather Steve just moved in. He’s here though, and he’s not about to just leave Steve like that and not do  _ something _ . The best he’s got to work with at the moment is a kettle on the stove and some tea, except the stove is still out of wood. “I’m gonna go pick up some wood for the stove.”

 

“Don’t. It’s fine. I’m  _ fine _ .” There’s such a pleading note to Steve’s voice, and Bucky doesn’t know what he’s trying to prove. He’s sure he’ll never forgive himself if something bad comes of it, but Bucky nods anyway, resolving to keep a close eye on his friend. Steve has stopped coughing at least, and that’s something to be grateful for. 

 

“Okay. Fine. You’re fine,” Bucky agrees, lips tilting up at the edges. “But  _ I _ am cold, so if you’re not gonna let me go get wood for the stove, we’ll have to settle on an alternative solution.”

 

It’s all the warning he gives before tugging the blankets from one of Steve’s hands, deftly tugging it around them both. Steve yelps in a particularly satisfying way, but he doesn’t move as Bucky presses close. “Jesus, Stevie. You’re freezing.”

 

They haven’t been this close since Steve dozed off on him in a movie, and it’s nice, even if there’s nothing to it beyond necessity. They fit well together, and it’s only a matter of time before Steve finally relaxes, cracking a smile. The two of them might as well be sixteen and camping out in a blanket fort in someone’s bedroom, and Bucky is just a little bit disappointed that there aren’t more blankets. 

 

He forgets all about dinner, forgets about everything really. As chilled as Steve was on his own, together, they stave off the chill of the apartment, huddled up in the blankets. They talk like they never do when they’re out, when their time is shared with women and the world’s distractions. Bucky is pretty sure that once Steve relaxes, it’s the most he’s seen his friend smile in a month. 

 

Time creeps on though, tugging at his eyelids and luring him towards slumber. Each time he blinks it’s harder to open his eyes, and eventually a whole minute goes by where no one says a thing. Steve’s voice is furtive when it finally cuts through the quiet, as if he’s almost afraid to speak. “Did you mean it, Buck?”

 

“Course I did.” He’s got no idea what Steve is talking about, but it’s true anyway. Whatever he’s said to Steve, right now he very definitely means it. Bucky does manage to crack an eye open, offering up a sleepy smile. “Mean what, though?”

 

Steve squirms so much that Bucky groggily wonders if he’s going to run away. That would be a shame because they’re warm here, and at some point his arms wormed around Steve’s back, and he really doesn’t want to let go. Maybe Steve doesn’t want him to either, because when he stops wriggling about like a sidewalk stranded earthworm, he’s very, very close. “About you and me.”

 

It feels like a dangerous question, and Bucky pries his eyes open, trying to make sure that sleep doesn’t answer for him. “About getting a place or about being cold?”

 

There’s that look, the stern determined one that makes you forget that Steve is small and frail and liable to blow over in a windstorm. It makes something flop in Bucky’s stomach, acutely aware of how very near those eyes and that mouth are to him. Steve’s lips set briefly, but eventually he clarifies, “About it always being you and me.”

 

Oh. Oh no. It’s Bucky’s turn to want to melt through the floor because he should have thought. Steve’s the only important thing he’s ever had and he took a step too far, and now that look he’s getting doesn’t make him want to grin quite so much. He’s honest though, because he can’t lie to Steve, and he waits to be kicked out after he finally blurts out, “Never meant anything more.”

 

Whatever he expects doesn’t come. Instead, that stern look softens abruptly and there are lips over his, and Steve’s arms unabashedly around him. Steve’s always had so much heart and backbone and why should it change now? Bucky is the one who’s stunned and frozen, nearly immobilized by the gravity of what’s happening. 

 

It’s only when Steve pulls back that Bucky catches up. There’s a hint of fear in his best friend’s expression, and no no no that’s all wrong. Steve isn’t afraid of anything, but there he is, wide eyed and silent and starting to pull away. “Sorry…”

 

“What? No! I just, well you just surprised me is all. I didn’t think you wanted…” Bucky shakes his head, grimacing at the way things keep tumbling out, his thoughts all jumbled. Eventually he untangles one of his hands from the blankets and Steve’s back to cup his friend’s cheek instead. “Sorry. Can we try that again?”

 

The second time is better. They’re clumsy and eager, but no one is shocked and no one is pulling away. It’s not the same as kissing girls, though not because there’s any fundamental difference. It’s just that he’s been over the moon about Steve longer than he can remember, and if there’s always going to be appearances to keep, right now, there’s also this. Their teeth click a couple of times, but Steve’s mouth feels too nice against his for Bucky to care in the slightest. 

 

They kiss and they talk and sleep is no longer so urgent. Caught up in the blankets and each other, even the cold really doesn’t seem so bad.

 

-

 

It’s less than a week later that Steve finally shows up on Bucky’s doorstep with what few belongings are worth bringing and a smile that stretches from ear to ear. It’s the best he’s looked since his mom past, and something awful in Bucky’s chest finally starts to ease. There’s an extra cot set up in his room until they can manage another bed, just in case, but if he’s honest, he hopes they won’t need it. 

 

They don’t. It’s not so cold, and the bed is small, but Steve doesn’t take up much space. He fits comfortably, nestled against Bucky’s broad chest, tucked in his arms like something precious. It can’t be forever, but Bucky is sure he could get used to this. 

 

He’s nearly asleep when he feels Steve move, and he wonders idly if lack of coherence on his part is what gives his best friend courage to act. If that’s what motivates Steve to nuzzle against his throat though, that is simply not fair. Bucky bites his lip on a soft sigh, writes it off as innocent, and tries to ignore the way the sensation shoots down his spine. 

 

It’s not innocent, he decides very quickly after that. Innocent doesn’t come in the shape of those sinful lips mouthing at his pulse. It makes Bucky’s toes curl in the sheets, a low, pleased sound escaping him despite his best efforts. He shivers and hooks his fingers under Steve’s chin, guiding him up for a proper kiss. “What’re you doing?”

 

“Umm…” Even in the dark he can see the flush across Steve’s pale skin. It blossoms across his cheeks in the moonlight that peeks through the curtains. Oh. The suggestion quivers across his skin and he hasn’t dared think too much on that, but he  _ wants _ .

 

“I’m all yours,” Bucky whispers, reaching a hand above his head to close the gap in the curtains. Their lives could depend on what privacy they can get if he’s understanding this right. It seems like a small price to pay, and he can just make out Steve’s satisfied expression. It’s brief and tender, broken with parted lips that tug a bit insistently at Bucky’s. 

 

He pushes for nothing at first. Every touch is a gift and he only wishes he could turn on the light to see what he’s doing. They move well together though, all considered, and if he can’t see Steve, he can feel the slow slide of fingers down his flank, nails skittering pleasantly over his bare skin. 

 

It feels like an invitation, one that Bucky is eager to accept. Bucky is hopelessly careful as he embraces Steve, memorizing every curve and plane of his waifish body. There’s a sharp jut to Steve’s shoulder blades that make him hum when Bucky drags a finger along it. The discovery is a delightful one, only eclipsed by the way Steve arches forward until they’re belly to belly as Bucky drags nails down his spine. 

 

“You gotta be quiet though. These walls are like newspaper,” Bucky urges, though it pains him to do so. Steve nods, breath just a little quick. Their bodies are uncharted territory, and Bucky means to learn it an inch at a time, but it’ll do them no good at all if it gets them caught. He’s careful as he continues, smiling at the way Steve’s fingers cling to his sleep pants, the only clothing available at the moment. It’s lewd and it’s innocent and it’s all Bucky can do not to pin Steve down and kiss him senseless. 

 

What he does instead is keep going. Steve feels fragile, like any wrong move could break him in half. He’s warm and lovely though, the slender curve of his side fitting perfectly under Bucky’s palm, and Bucky’s sure that if this was all he got, he could be happy. Steve isn’t pulling away though. Not at all. He stays when Bucky traces his spine down to the waist of his pants. He presses his mouth against bare skin to stifle a whimper when Bucky follows the loose line of his sleep pants to his sides, and when Bucky curiously dips his fingers lower, thumb dragging along the divot of Steve’s hips, he bites down. The press of teeth to Bucky’s shoulder nearly unravels him, and Bucky whispers out a sharp curse, clinging to the body in his arms. 

 

It’s all so new and so lovely, and every touch feels like heaven. He could get used to the solid press of the knob of Steve’s hip in his hand, or the way his best friend’s muscles quiver when he slowly eases away the last of Steve’s clothes. He keeps waiting for Steve to tell him to stop, but the words don’t come. Instead, he’s a silhouette of pale, bare skin against Bucky’s dark sheets, and even in the mostly dark, it’s the loveliest thing Bucky’s seen in forever. 

 

“God. Look at you,” Bucky breathes, dipping his head for a kiss. 

 

Steve grins against his lips, and whatever Bucky was worried about vanishes entirely as he whispers back. “Rather look at you.”

 

They manage that too, with clumsy hands and stifled laughter. There isn’t much to see as they wrap the blankets around their naked bodies, but they tangle together like they were made to fit that way, and it’s the single most perfect thing Bucky thinks he’s ever felt. Steve’s touch is eager and curious, stilted only by the way he seems to get so distracted when Bucky touches him back. 

 

It’s alright, really, and endearing in ways that leave Bucky’s chest tight. There’ll be time enough to think on that later, but for the moment he takes advantage of the lack of fabric between them. There are divots that lead to Steve’s tailbone, and Bucky traces those too, hopelessly pleased by the way it makes Steve jerk forward, closer to him. The curve of his rear fits perfectly in his palm, and he follows the line of it, not quite realizing the tipping point until he’s already reached it. Steve’s hips can’t forward and they meet somewhere in the middle, and the choked sound between them is Bucky’s. 

 

He hadn’t really considered  _ that _ , but they fit so well together. Bucky can’t fit a hand between them, but it’s hardly necessary, because Steve seems to be on exactly the same page. There’s a pale, slender thigh that hooks around Bucky, drawing him closer, and every move is electric. 

 

Maybe he’ll be ashamed of himself later. They’re hardly even properly touching. The two of them cling and drag fingers at each other’s backs, and somewhere Steve get’s enough leverage to properly rock their hips together. There’s no grip to it, but it doesn’t matter because Steve is heat and friction against the length of Bucky’s cock, and the newness of it alone is about enough to send him over the edge. Bucky scrabbles to be closer, and he has to be leaving marks on Steve’s back and hips, but it hardly seems to matter. 

 

It’s so new to them both that every move feels like a symphony. There’s nothing to compare to, no stress to do better, and when he feels Steve shuddering in his arms, Bucky’s only thought is that it’s a terrible shame he can’t see a little better. There are soft, stuttered sounds and what they’ll someday figure out is a mockery of the rhythm they’re capable of, but it’s enough to make Steve shake from head to toe, his movements urgent and disjointed and Bucky’s name a frantic whisper on his lips. 

 

Bucky isn’t entirely surprised by the warmth that spreads between them, and he’s unraveled enough not to care that they’re sticky. Steve goes a bit boneless in his arms, but that’s alright too. He manages to hold them close, rolling his hips forward until he follows his best friend over the edge. 

 

This too is new in its own way. There’s never been anyone else, and if someday they’ll figure out their clumsiness, right now it’s the most perfect that Bucky’s ever felt. Release licks along every nerve ending, and he doesn’t realize the sounds he’s making until Steve clamps a hand over his mouth with a soft but frantic, “Shh. Shhhhhh.”

 

He grins as he realizes his mistake, nuzzling close to Steve. Tomorrow, they might regret not bothering to get cleaned up. He can already feel it drying uncomfortably on his skin, but the mess pales in comparison to what he has. Steve’s hand cradles his face and he leans closer until their foreheads touch in the dark. It’s a tender gesture that feels overwhelming in the aftermath, and Bucky swallows hard, folding his arms protectively around his friend. 

 

“Always, right Buck?” Steve’s voice is so soft, it nearly gets lost in the scant space between us. There’s no mistaking the nerves in that question though. 

 

“Always,” Bucky agrees, sealing the promise with a kiss. It’s almost chaste in the wake of what they’ve done, an affectionate pull of his mouth over Steve’s. “You and me to the end of the line.”


End file.
